


William Andrew Phillip... who?

by Jay Trent (Bluewolf458)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Jay%20Trent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cowley decides to give the son of an old friend a job</p>
            </blockquote>





	William Andrew Phillip... who?

"He has several aliases," Cowley said, "but they're fairly consistent; there are nine, perhaps ten, variants. He was William Phillips in Angola three years ago; a gunrunner. A reliable one, from all accounts; he charged high, but if he took someone's money they got their goods. Not all the men who set up as gunrunners are as honest. He was still selling guns in Cape Town six months later, using the name Andrew Williams; he was Phillip Phillips in the Congo two months after that. Then the authorities lost sight of him for nearly eighteen months. He reappeared in Rhodesia as William Andrews about ten months ago and came to England last month as Andrew Williamson.

"He seems to have remained law-abiding during the last ten months - at least, nobody has been able to finger him for anything illegal."

"And it makes sense to keep an eye on him," Doyle commented dryly, even as he studied the slightly blurred, quite long-distance photo Cowley had handed to him.

"It's for his own safety as well," Cowley commented.

*As well as what?* Doyle wondered, even as he also wondered at the slightly indulgent note in Cowley's voice. "Any idea what his real name is?" he asked.

"Yes," Cowley said.

Doyle looked at him; Cowley met his gaze with a bland expression that said 'you asked; I answered', before continuing.

"His given names are William Andrew Phillip. He may be using the surname Turner. He hasn't used his own surname for many years; it doesn't come into things." Cowley sighed; his expression no longer bland, there was a look in his eyes that spoke of a long-ago sorrow, controlled, distant, but not forgotten; never forgotten. "It's possible he doesn't even remember himself what it is."

"You knew him once?"

Cowley hesitated, then said, "Many years ago, when he was a child. I last saw him just after his fifth birthday; the day his mother walked out, taking him with her."

Doyle said slowly, "He's not your son, sir?"

"No." Another brief hesitation, then, "His father was a close friend, one I valued very highly. He never understood why his wife left him; he had always believed he had a happy marriage.

"After his death, I managed to trace her; not easily, for she had reverted to using her own name, and she had never sought financial support from him - or from the state, come to that. She was living in appalling poverty, with a chronic respiratory condition brought on by the conditions she was living in; she died a few weeks after I saw her, having flatly refused my offer of help. When I asked her why she left, she said she'd been told by someone she trusted completely - she did not say who that was - that he was being unfaithful to her - with another man. 'I could have fought another woman,' she told me, 'but not another man'. She preferred the hardship of the life she was leading, had led since she walked out, to living with a man she believed had a male lover and regarded his marriage as cover for his homosexuality. The irony was that he had not been unfaithful, he took his marriage vows totally seriously, and he was completely heterosexual - but I was unable to convince her of it. She just said, 'Of course you would lie to support him. Men always back each other up.' 

"I asked about her son. He had left her several years previously, when he was just fourteen, and she had no idea where he was. I was able to persuade her to give me a photograph of him, taken at school just before he disappeared, and using it I was able to trace him to Africa; and I've kept a tracer on him since.

"Now he's back in England I want to do something for him - for his father's sake."

"Well, with that sort of record, I doubt we'd want him in CI5," Doyle commented dryly.

"I'm not so sure," Cowley replied. "With that sort of record... It's well said that the best gamekeeper is a reformed poacher, because he knows all the tricks."

Doyle looked at his boss, suddenly suspicious. Cowley noted the wary look and gave a faint half smile. "Yes," he said. "I contacted him a few days ago to offer him a job; he has no idea I know anything of his pre-Africa history - and it's to stay that way," he added. His tone said it would be Doyle's balls on the line if he slipped up and let William Andrew Phillip possibly Turner, aka Andrew Williamson, aka William Phillips, aka Andrew Williams, aka Phillip Phillips, aka William Andrews, aka possibly five other names, know that Cowley knew his history. "I've only told you to give you an idea of his background. I've got a feeling he's not a man who trusts very readily. Knowing why'll make it easier for you."

"Yes, sir." Yes, Doyle understood. He was not happy about it; but as he left Cowley's office, he was resigned to it. Babysitting new agents had been part of his job description for quite some time.

Of course, with luck, William Andrew Phillip possibly Turner might tell the Cow exactly what he could do with his job...

***

A week later, Cowley once again called Doyle into his office. A stranger sat in the other chair in the office; a man near his own age, give or take a year, Doyle estimated. There was a hard look in his eyes, a look that Doyle had seen many times in his years as a copper; a look that bespoke a difficult childhood and the lesson learned, possibly not easily, that nobody was to be trusted.

"Ah, Doyle," Cowley said easily. "This is William Bodie."

Christ, _another_ name! Doyle thought; he had realised instantly who the man was. Or was 'Bodie' the man's _real_ surname?

"Bodie's been working in Africa as a mercenary and recently returned to Britain; his experiences there should make him an excellent CI5 agent. Bodie, this is Ray Doyle. He's ex-London police, and his reputation there was as a hard man who didn't suffer fools gladly." He glanced at Bodie. "You'll be working together during your probationary period; whether I leave you together after that will depend on a number of factors."

"I would prefer to work alone, sir," the man now calling himself Bodie said. "I understand that during the probationary period I must work with a partner who's more experienced in this kind of work, but after that... I want to work alone."

"I'm not happy having agents working alone," Cowley said. "Oh, there are one or two who do, but I really don't like it. It's more efficient for agents to have a partner. You aren't going to tell me that you worked alone as a mercenary."

Bodie shook his head. "In the jungle? Hardly. There were too many dangers other than the blokes we were fighting. Usually we worked as a squad. Occasionally we split into pairs - it depended on the job we'd been hired to do." He fell silent for a few moments. "We had regular partners for when we split up. My last job - my 'partner' had been out a few days earlier, scouting, and gave us bad intel; we discovered later he'd been caught by the other side and bought his life by switching sides. Those of us who escaped were lucky - three good men died." He glanced at Doyle. "Not your fault, Doyle, but I've learned not to trust anyone but myself. I don't see me changing my mind about that - ever."

But inside three months, he did.

**Author's Note:**

> This is another story that was begun but never got beyond this point, and after five years I doubt I'll bo anything more to it.


End file.
